


wolf in the wood

by cryptidkickflip



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Retellings, LittleRed!Keith, M/M, Red Riding Hood - Freeform, Red Riding Hood Elements, Wolf!Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 10:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidkickflip/pseuds/cryptidkickflip
Summary: keith knows the wood. he knows that the roots of the trees tangle in both soil and magic like he knows the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. it is a fact of life that nothing is as it seems under the canopy of leaves just beyond his family home.until he meets takashi shirogane, a wolf in the wood.he seems like a genial man, with glinting silver eyes, silken hair in a waterfall down his back, and a beautiful smile, but my... what big teeth he has.





	wolf in the wood

The wood was dark and dangerous.

That was non-negotiable, the fact just the same as the birds and the bees or the clouds in the sky. The people knew that there were more things in heaven and earth, and most of them lived under the canopy of leaves of the wood.

Most considered the wood cursed or haunted, some assumed that there was magic between the trunks of the trees and the stalks of the underbrush, but very few knew what truly festered there.

Keith would argue that it didn’t fester: it _grew_.

It flourished, tendrils wrapping gently around rocks and trees and vines, flowering in the moonlight and glistening wetly after the rain.

When asked what “it” was, the thing that kept the others out and drew him ever closer, his eyes would alight with mischief, the indigo of his eyes glinting almost as if they were lit from within. A tiny smile would tug at the corner of his mouth and he would tip his jaw and lower his voice.

“Secrets,” He would say.

It was hardly a secret as to why the other people in the village preferred to keep their company elsewhere.

Keith didn’t mind. He’d rather be left to the wood and his mother anyway.

They lived in a little house, right on the edge of the wood. His uncles were just on the other side of the wood, a little under a day’s walk. Keith’s feet could take him there by themselves. He’d been walking the path since he was barely taller than the underbrush with his mother, then alone once he was old enough to know when to defend himself and when to leave well enough alone.

Sometimes the wood just needed its space.

Thus was the way of the creatures who also called the wood home.

Keith could respect that. He, too, needed space, more frequently now that he’d grown older.

The wood offered him solace, the canopy protecting him from the outside world, the boughs cradling him in their arms when he needed comfort, the paths offering him room to run and fight should he need to work out aggression.

The wood was there when he’d lost his father.

The wood would be there when he was lost from this world, as well.

The wood was perennial, blooming through life after life, ever-changing while remaining all the same.

When his mother called him into the house one morning from feeding the horses, Keith knew that he’d be dipping his toe back into the realm of the wood.

“Keith, love,” She said, brushing his bangs too long forsaken by the company of shears back from his face. “Your uncles need some supplies to be brought to them this afternoon. Are you up for the trip?”

“Of course,” Keith had replied, stepping back to fix his hair with a small frown. “What am I bringing to them?”

“Just a few ledgers, some ore samples,” His mother replied, beckoning to come into the house. Keith’s uncles had the forge; his mother ran the shop front.

“So I won’t have to tack up Red?” Keith asked, following her into the house. She shook her head and moved to her desk, pulling out the relevant documentation as well as a few small bags of ore. Keith took these and moved to get his travelling bag and his shoes.

Krolia gave him a bundle with some hardtack and salted meat, just something to tide him over until his uncles could fill him full of whatever they’d caught in the wood.

“Don’t leave without letting them write me back on the ore samples!” Krolia called after him. Keith waved over his shoulder before ducking into the heavier foliage of the treeline.

Once more into the fray.

He walked for a time in silence, looking around him at the wood and the creatures who lived within. They were curious things, now grown comfortable with Keith’s presence, who enjoyed peering out of their dens and nests to get a glimpse of the boy who dared to walk the wood alone.

Once he’d gotten into the rhythm of this trek, he began to sing.

He’d always sang to the wood, even when he was young. The wood would occasionally sing back in the whistling of the trees or in the tiny birds flitting through the branches, or in the babbling of the stream near the path.

The wood would always listen. Keith enjoyed giving it something to listen _to_.

That day, it had gone a little differently. Usually, there was nothing to show that Keith’s song was being enjoyed other than a flock of birds taking flight or a rabbit creeping out from the underbrush to watch him with knowing eyes.

That day, Keith’s song was paused as a large section of underbrush rustled. He stopped, taking a step back, his hand flying to the sword at his belt.

Out of the underbrush walked a wolf, nearly bigger than Keith. Black with a white shock of fur on the very top of its head, it bore a large scar across the muzzle and a wise look in its eye. It sat in the centre of the trail.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Keith said grimly, tucking his chin and holding his blade between the wolf and himself. “I don’t want to, but I will.”

He almost dropped his sword when the wolf began to contort, limbs lengthening and muzzle shortening as the fur all over its body receded.

“It” appeared to be a “he”.

“I’d sooner you kept singing.”

Keith blinked back at the man. His black hair tumbled down his back in a sheet. The spot just above his forehead was shock-white, framing his face and ending just below his jaw.

He was wearing a pair of pants and a thin vest, but nothing else. The pants slung low on his hips and he reached down to tug them up slowly while he watched Keith stare.

His right arm was cradled close to his chest.

It was black to the shoulder, his fingers ending in claws.

“If you’d like,” Keith finally said, sheathing his sword and taking a tentative step toward the man. “You’ll have to walk and listen.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time?” The man said easily, turning and gesturing for Keith to go before him.

“You followed me this whole time?” Keith asked, squinting at him as he walked past. He was unhappy with the man walking behind him, but there was nothing that could be done beyond forcing him to leave. He was a full head taller than Keith and proved to be of the wood, with skills that Keith did not possess.

Keith wasn’t a betting man, but he would put money on losing that fight.

“Yes. I usually do,” The man said, falling into step beside Keith. Keith frowned at him.

“What made you come talk to me today?” Keith asked, half turning to him with a frown.

“I can hear your stomach growling from here. I know it’s nearly a day’s walk to the place that you go,” The man said, trailing off. “I really don’t follow you everywhere. I promise.” He said, casting a side glance at Keith. “Let’s start this over, shall we?”

“Alright,” Keith drawled, quirking a smile at the slump of the man’s shoulders.

“I’m Takashi Shirogane. I live here, in the wood, and you frequently walk through here and sing, which calls my attention, which causes me to listen, but you always walk _away_ and I’d like to keep listening so I follow.” The man said, waving his arm in front of him as he spoke. “And today you sounded hungry so I thought that I would offer you a bite to eat.”

“A bite to eat?” Keith said, not-so-subtly eyeing the man’s canines. They were longer than anyone’s he’d ever seen and wicked, glinting in the dappled sunlight coming through the canopy of the wood.

“Not… like that,” He replied. The hungry look that followed didn’t inspire Keith with soaring confidence.

“Hm,” He hummed, before turning to his pack. “I brought some hardtack and salted meat if you’d like some,” He offered, taking out the beeswax-coated linen packages. “I must get to my uncle’s house before sundown, so I’m afraid I won’t have time to stop.”

“Before sundown,” The other man mused, taking a small piece of the salted meat with a word of thanks.

“The wood gets too dangerous to travel at night,” Keith said, eyeing Takashi. “For me, anyway.”

“For you, of course,” He replied, giving Keith a once-over that left him feeling bare. “Would you mind if I travelled along?”

“Not at all,” Keith said, surprised that he meant it. Takashi was of the wood; he was comfortable. Safe, almost.

They walked a few paces more, Keith enjoying his snack with Takashi and listening to the birds. A rabbit startled, running across the path, and Keith watched as the other man perked up and watched with great interest. Keith could see every ounce of the wolf in him, alert and waiting for the chase.

Once Keith had finished eating and he and Takashi shared a drink of water, Keith began to sing again.

For what his word was worth, Takashi seemed to enjoy it, watching Keith every step of the way. Keith could picture him as an enormous wolf, basking in the sunlight on a rock and listening to his song.

“I’ve heard that one before,” Takashi commented after the song was through. “Is it your favourite?”

“It is,” Keith confirmed.

“You sing it well,” He complimented, tipping his head down to look fully at Keith. “Where did you learn it?”

“My father used to sing while he cooked,” Keith replied, casting a quick glance at Takashi. “I would get tangled up in his bootstraps while he worked away in the kitchen, listening to him sing.”

“Used to?” Takashi asked, frowning at Keith.

“He’s dead,” Keith said, his flat tone of voice brooking no commentary. “For five years now.”

“Oh,” Was all the other man had to say. Keith was glad for his silence. He hated the pitying looks the other people from the village would give him and the empty condolences. They had never visited while his father still lived; why would they come ‘round the house once he’d died to tell his mother how good of a man he was? Keith and Krolia knew that.

They walked a few more paces before Takashi turned back to him and spoke.

“What was he like?”

The question threw him for a moment.

He’d never had to describe his father to anyone. Everyone in the village already knew him and those were the only people Keith had ever known. What use was it to describe someone that everyone saw every day at the market, every day in the town square?

“He was tall.” Keith began, kicking at a rock in the path. “He always seemed so big to me, but I was just a child. He couldn’t have been any bigger than you,” Keith tossed a shoulder. Takashi pursed his lips and tucked his chin. Keith grinned and continued as Takashi processed his jest. “He would stay home with me when I was a baby so that my mother could work. When I got old enough, he worked at the stables in town. He always would tell me stories before I would go to bed, stories about magic and kings and knights and the faeries. He taught me how to ride a horse. He taught me how to cook and bake, and how to take care of the sheep and the garden. Once, he brought home a tiny kitten from the stable, barely bigger than my own hand, and let me sit on his lap when he fed her from a bottle. She survived and he kept her until he died.”

The words tumbled out of him until Keith grew hoarse, a lump forming in his throat from all of the memories walking beside them on the dirt road.

“You miss him,” Takashi said quietly, giving him an unreadable look with his glinting silver eyes.

“I do,” Keith admitted.

“Wherever he is, I’m sure he misses you, too,” Takashi assured him.

Takashi didn’t know his father at all, didn’t even know Keith for that matter, but for some reason, his assurance bolstered Keith in a way that none of the hollow platitudes from the others had because he was right.

His father would miss him like crazy.

With a soft smile, Keith gave Takashi a look through his lashes.

“This one was his favourite,” He informed him before beginning another song.

They continued this way until the sun began to cast long shadows on the path, Keith telling Takashi where he’d learned this song and that, who he’d learned it from and when.

Few and far between, but treasured by Keith nonetheless, were Takashi’s laughs. Keith didn’t find himself particularly funny, as no one had ever laughed like that at any of the stories he’d told, but Takashi would throw his head back and close his eyes as though his tales were the closest to heaven that he’d get with his feet on the ground.

Keith didn’t know if this was because Takashi hadn’t been told any stories, or if nobody had given Keith the chance for his stories to be told.

Either way, the walk left Keith feeling lighter than he ever had in the setting sunlight. The smoke from his uncles’ forge could be seen through the thinning trees, and Takashi slowed to a stop.

“This appears to be where I leave you, Keith.” He said, looking at Keith with a small pout. Keith’s heart clenched at where Takashi toyed with his fingers and at the petulant frown and the crease between his eyebrows.

“I’ll be leaving again in the morning,” Keith said quickly. “Will you… Will you walk back with me?”

“I’ll wait for you,” Takashi said, after a stretch of quiet where Keith almost wished he could take his question back. Keith smiled at him, a real one, one that set his eyes to glitter in the orange light.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Takashi.” Heat bloomed across the other man’s face and he responded with a smile that dimpled his cheeks.

“Shiro. You can call me Shiro.”

Keith brought his pack into his uncles’ home, not bothering to knock. His Uncle Kolivan was in the kitchen, making something that smelled spicy and made his mouth water.

“Keith,” He called, smiling over the counter at where Keith was pulling off his boots. “You brought us gifts from Krolia?”

“I have,” Keith said, following his nose into the kitchen. Kolivan boomed a laugh and shook his head.

“After dinner, of course.”

“Of course,” Keith echoed, standing on his tiptoes to stare into the humongous pot. “What are you making?”

“Spiced beef stew,” Kolivan replied, offering Keith the spoon. Keith tasted it, and while it was delicious, it made his eyes water and his mouth and lips burn.

“Ah,” Keith hissed, looking around the kitchen in a mild panic. “It’s fire!”

“Are you attempting to kill our nephew?” Thace asked from the back door.

“I’m not,” Kolivan replied teasingly before offering Keith a bite of bread, torn from the hearty loaf on the counter. “It isn’t my fault he can’t handle a little spice.”

“A little?!” Keith asked, spraying bread crumbs onto the floor.

That earned him a laugh from both of his uncles, which sent him to the table with his tail between his legs.

“Ulaz and Regris should be home soon,” Kolivan told Keith.

“Is Uncle Antok out back?” Keith asked, moving to stand. It was a silly question, really. Antok was always out back at the forge. He kept the fires going and an eye on the materials and progress. Antok lived and breathed that forge more than any one of Keith’s other uncles.

“He is,” Kolivan said as Keith pulled on his boots.

“I’ll tell him dinner is almost ready,” Keith said, traipsing out the back door. The forge was within eyesight of the sprawling house. Kolivan had built them both himself, adding rooms and hallways and sheds and outbuildings as their family grew and changed.

Keith made his way to the forge, listening to the sounds of metal striking metal. Antok was crafting a new blade. He was excited to see what it looked like.

His uncles were well-known for their unique blades, each one crafted to the user personally. His mother would take their measurements, listen to the buyer talk about their lives and their need for their blade, as well as read their body language and their movement to fully understand how they needed their blade to be made.

Keith never had the knack for people that she did. She could understand a person’s life story from the moment that the bell above the shop door jangled, learn their sword arm and their swing from the way that they walked, decide the blend of metal needed in the blade in order to fulfil its sworn duty from stories of their children and of their cattle farm on the other side of town.

Keith was resigned to be a delivery boy for life.

As he made his way across the yard, he saw a flash of black at the edge of the trees. He couldn’t be certain, but he could have sworn the shape wore a white crest on its forehead.

Shiro.

He smiled to himself as he raised a hand toward the forge in greeting.

“Uncle Antok!” He called, hoping to be heard over the sounds of a new blade being born. “Uncle Antok, dinner’s almost ready!”

The sounds of metal on metal halted and Keith saw the great figure at the anvil straighten up and remove his goggles.

“Keith?” Antok asked, turning toward him and removing his gloves. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think you were due until Monday.”

“It _is_ Monday, uncle,” Keith said, crossing his arms and shaking his head at Antok. “Surely Uncle Kolivan has called you in at least once since last week,”

“Surely he has,” Antok laughed, picking up the metal with enormous tongs and dropping it into the waiting water barrel. “But it seems that I’ve forgotten. Come, sit. I only have one more fold to do.”

Keith took up his stool by the fire, the warmth seeping into his clothes and bones and making him hum in contentment.

“How was the journey? I don’t see Red in the stables,” Antok asked, bringing the metal back to the fire. “So I assume you walked,”

“Yes,” Keith said, watching as his uncle worked the bellows with one foot. He made it look easy; Keith would have to jump up and down on the thing, preferably while holding a large rock or perhaps his horse, to get it to work. “I had company today, uncle,”

Keith always brought back the tales he gathered from the road. His uncles very rarely travelled near town, so he would entertain them with stories of the white horses in the wood with great shining horns on their heads, or the women in the river with the tails of fish.

So to Keith, telling Antok of Shiro was simple and easy, merely telling his uncle of a new friend he’d made.

“Oh?” Antok asked, turning the blade over in the fire. “Who did you meet today?”

“A great black wolf. He turned into a man with eyes like starlight and a white streak in his hair and he walked with me.” Keith said, kicking his feet.

Antok stopped working the bellows to turn to him.

“Keith,” He said, taking three long strides to the stool where Keith sat to grip at his shoulders. “You say you _walked with him_?”

“Yes,” Keith answered, blinking at the fear he saw in his uncle’s eyes. “He was nice to me, Uncle Antok. He liked my singing,”

Antok left the blade in the flames and drug Keith to his feet, throwing his gloves and his apron onto the workbench. Keith was rushed across the yard and back into the house, where Antok slid a bolt over the door and rushed to the front of the house to peer out the window.

“Kolivan,” He said, panic lacing his voice. “Where are Regris and Ulaz?”

“They were picking up the firewood,” Kolivan replied, standing stunned where he had begun to set the table. “They should almost be here.”

“Keith saw the Champion in the wood today,” Antok said. Kolivan started and nearly dropped the stack of dishes onto the floor.

“The Champion? Keith, you didn’t tell me of this,” Kolivan said, whirling on Keith.

“The Champion? He said his name was Shiro,” Keith said, frowning at his uncles’ erratic behaviour.

“Call Thace inside,” Kolivan ordered Antok, taking Keith by the arm. Keith was getting a little tired of being lead places, as though he were a horse. They sat on the couch, Kolivan facing him. “Tell me of your encounter, little one,” Kolivan said, his forehead furrowed in worry.

“It was hardly an encounter,” Keith muttered, tossing a shoulder in dismissal. “I was singing one of Father’s songs, and he stepped out of the brush to greet me. He told me he heard my stomach growling and thought he’d offer me some lunch. He listens to me sing when I walk through the wood, uncle. We spoke about Father and Mother and the town and Red,” Keith said, shaking his head and throwing up his hands. “He was so _nice,_ Uncle Kolivan, I don’t understand—”

Thace and Antok returned from outside, Thace still carrying a bundle of wood.

“Ulaz and Regris are back,” Thace said, dropping the firewood at the back door. “They’re tying up the horses.”

“Damn the horses,” Kolivan growled, standing and moving to the window. “Get inside! Now!”

“Uncle Kolivan, there’s no reason to let the horses go for this,” Keith tried to reason. “It’s truly fine. Shiro walked with me all day and nothing happened!”

Thace and Ulaz came into the back door in a flurry of noise, bolting it shut and running into the living room.

“Is it true?” Thace asked, looking worriedly between Kolivan and Antok. “Has the Champion returned?”

“He has,” Kolivan confirmed, moving to stand in front of Keith. “He’s been sighted, close to the house—”

“Will somebody just tell me why you’re all so afraid of Shiro?” Keith burst, his voice cracking.

His uncles stopped talking and turned to him.

“He was with me for _hours_ today. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have when I pulled my blade on him when he stepped out of the wood.” Keith said, crossing his arms with a glare.

“You _pulled your blade on him_?” Antok said, gaping at Keith. “Boy, do you have a death wish?”

“I don’t even know who this Champion is supposed to be!” Keith snapped, sitting back down on the couch waspishly. “So why don’t you tell me?”

“I suppose it was before your time,” Kolivan mused, moving to sit next to Keith. The rest of Keith’s uncles took places around the living room, sitting down but not relaxing. “The Champion terrorized the forest for years, killing very nearly everyone that tried to travel through the wood. The only way that we survived was through cunning and our blades,” Kolivan said, looking to Antok. “Each of us very nearly lost our lives to the Champion.”

“I don’t believe that Shiro would do such a thing,” Keith said, shaking his head. “He was so gentle, Uncle. You have to believe me. He… He laughed at my _jokes_ ,”

“He’s a monster, Keith. You’re lucky you escaped with your life.” Antok said grimly.

Silence fell on the cabin. Keith had to admit that he didn’t know Shiro at all, not beyond their simple talk of music and the wood. He trusted his uncles with his life. He wanted to believe them, but he couldn’t get the image of Shiro with his head tipped back and tears of mirth spilling from his eyes out from behind his eyelids.

“What if I prove it?” Keith asked, looking around at his uncles. “What if I showed you that he’s not a monster?”

“Keith,” Ulaz said warningly. “Don’t risk this. Not a second time.”

“It’s not a risk,” Keith insisted. “I just… He’s not a monster.” He insisted again, brokenly. He didn’t want to believe that. He couldn’t.

After the panic, Keith could hardly enjoy dinner. His appetite had fled with the conversation. Thace led him to the back bedroom and gently offered him a stack of blankets before sitting down next to Keith on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Thace said simply.

“For what, Uncle?” Keith asked, his shoulders slumped and his voice soft.

“For the loss of the friend you thought you had,” Thace said, offering Keith a hug. He took it gratefully, allowing himself the tears that had threatened him all evening. Thace rubbed his back as he let it all out, the tension from dinner sapping from his body as he became tired.

“Thank you, Uncle Thace,” Keith said, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Sleep well, kit,” Thace replied, mussing up his hair and leaving the room. He shut the door after him and Keith sat on the bed for a moment before moving to cover it in the blankets.

He had a lot of information to process. He wished that his uncles had been more willing to talk to him about it, to allow him to work through the day as a whole, but they had always been men of action.

The more he laid in bed, the more he realized that he, too, was a man of action, armed with a piece of knowledge that niggled in the back of his mind; Thace had put him in the only guest bedroom with a window.

The bed wasn’t even made. They knew he was coming for days since his mother had ridden out to pick up last week’s shipment of blades.

He wasn’t sure if he was overthinking it, but he knew that if he laid in bed a moment longer he’d never find out the secrets he was so desperate to learn.

He crept out of bed and to the door, hoping that his uncles had already gone to bed. He needed his boots if he would be walking in the wood at this hour.

The door opened silently and he peered out before taking a tentative step into the hallway. He was concocting a plan to feign hunger, should he be caught, when he nearly tripped and fell on his face, almost waking the whole house and ruining his plan.

At his feet sat his boots and his blade.

Thace _had_ put him in that room on purpose.

He snatched both up and shut the door again, quickly rolling up two of the (now that he thought of it, excessive pile) of blankets and shoving them under the top sheet before running around to the window.

It was now or never.

Keith needed to know, but a seed of doubt was planted in his mind. What if the walk had been a ploy, simply small talk to get Keith to trust Shiro enough to allow him to get close?

He thought of Shiro’s sheer size as a wolf and shook his head. Through size alone, there was no way Shiro expected him to put up a fight enough to warrant tricks and deceptions. Keith had unwittingly made it clear that he didn’t have nary a clue who Shiro was when he’d sheathed his sword on the road.

Keith unlatched the window and hopped carefully out into the night.

Avoiding his uncles’ windows, he crept to the side of the house without a window and made for the wood, post haste.

The silence of the night was unnerving.

Once he was sure he was far enough from the house to be out of earshot, he paused, standing amongst the trees to listen.

He didn’t hear much of anything. He had hoped that Shiro was still here, waiting for him just as he promised.

The moon, pregnant but not full, hung overhead and cast white light around the wood, making the tree limbs look like bones and the ground look black as pitch. Keith shivered in the chill.

He turned back to the house. He could still see the light from the fire within and the forge, setting the house to an eerie silhouette.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Sh—Shiro?” Keith asked, teeth chattering in the cold. “Please, come out,”

He heard branches break, only feet from him, and turned. His hand went to the hilt of his blade on reflex but he relaxed when he saw the shape of a man in the moonlight.

He took two jogging steps toward the man and stopped short, talking quickly in his haste to get back to the warmth.

“Shiro! I have to talk to you! My uncles—"

“Shiro,” A voice hissed.

A chill raced down Keith’s spine, the cold hand of unadulterated fear tracing its way to his heart and clenching its fist.

A lone red eye blinked open, glowing in the darkness.

That wasn’t Shiro.

“Sh—Shit, shit, shit,” Keith drew his blade and stumbled backwards, hitting a tree and spinning around. He took off running toward the house, but an ethereal laugh surrounded him as a force hit him and pinned him to the ground.

“Oh, but what a tasty little morsel you are,” The voice growled in his ear, hot, fetid breath fanning over his face. Both of Keith’s hands were gripped, almost to the crushing point, by a claw-tipped hand over his head.

“Shiro!” Keith caught his breath enough to scream, his voice breaking in the night. “Shiro, please!”

Even if Shiro never came, he hoped he could rouse his uncles enough to maybe, possibly, gods, please—

The thing’s tongue lathed down the tendon on the side of Keith’s neck, making Keith shout in abject terror.

“I always thought the meat tasted better when flavoured with fear,” The creature purred. “Why don’t you scream again for me?”

“Shiro!” Keith screamed, his voice shrill and bloodcurdling. It tapered off into a shuddering cry.

He would die here.

The irony of being killed by another while trying to prove Shiro’s virtue wasn’t lost on him.

“Sendak!”

The creature, Sendak, snarled as he turned away from Keith to look at the source of the voice.

“Let him go,” Shiro growled, circling Sendak slowly. Beyond Sendak’s bulk, he could see Shiro, crouched and prowling, his silver eyes glowing bright and his fangs glinting wetly in the moonlight.

“Champion,” Sendak hissed, standing and releasing Keith. He didn’t even cast another glance at him, a larger meal in his sights. “What does the life of a sheep matter to you, wolf?”

Shiro cast his eyes at Keith quickly, only a ghost of a pleading expression on his face.

“It doesn’t,” Shiro snarled, continuing to circle Sendak. He was pushing him away from Keith, Keith realized dumbly from the ground. “It’s you I’m here for.”

“Are you?” Sendak drawled, standing to his full height. “Come back for a second arm transplant, Champion?” He mocked, taking a lazy step toward Shiro.

His back was turned.

Keith scrambled to his feet, diving away from the monster before him.

Shiro took that moment to launch himself at Sendak.

The fight became a whirlwind of flashing claws and gnashing teeth, growls and snarls ripping the night in a frenzy.

Keith couldn’t tell if there was a winner or a loser, the two rolling end over end in an endless cacophony of noise and motion.

They were fighting directly over his blade.

He couldn’t reach it without running the risk of joining the fray.

That was a risk he was unwilling to take.

Shiro detangled himself from Sendak, throwing himself over the creature to drop into a fighting stance in front of Keith.

“Go! Run _now_ ,” He snarled, turning for a split second to face Keith. The panic in his eyes sent a lance of fear through Keith’s heart.

He wasn’t sure he was going to win this fight and he wanted Keith far, far away when he lost it.

That moment was enough of an opening for Sendak. He lunged, swiping his wicked claws across Shiro’s chest.

With a cry, Shiro fell to the ground and Keith’s feet became uprooted from the spot he was in, propelling him into motion with frantic feet.

Only he didn’t run away as instructed. He scrambled for his blade on the forest floor.

“Whose champion are you now?” Sendak cackled, bearing down on Shiro’s prone form with vile glee.

Keith’s hands closed around the hilt of his blade and he whirled, determination set in his jaw and his shoulders.

“Mine,” He spat.

Sendak whirled in surprise and that was the only shot Keith needed.

He’d done this, thousands of times in theory with his mother, but never in practice.

Then again, he’d never been in the wood at this hour, under the silvery moon. He’d never had to look upon Shiro’s crumpled form in the ghastly light of night, lying unmoving and still. He’d never looked into the lone red eye of a monster and had to face it down with nothing but his blade and his unwillingness to go down without a fight, his grim determination to never turn tail and flee.

Keith swung with everything he had and the edge of his blade, honed sharp from years of sitting at Antok’s knee and learning the craft, took the head from Sendak’s shoulders in a clean slice.

Keith fell to his shaking knees and retched.

“Keith,” Shiro rasped and Keith rallied himself, stumbling to where Shiro lay in the underbrush.

“Shiro,” Keith sobbed, hands roving gently over the wounds. They were deep, weeping blood and likely excruciatingly painful. “We have to get you inside.”

“Keith,” Shiro said again, gripping Keith’s wrist in a weak grasp. “You _saved_ me,”

Keith took Shiro’s hand in his own.

“We saved _each other_.”

“Keith!” Kolivan’s voice tore through the night, many crashing footsteps pounding through the underbrush. “Keith, where are you!”

“Uncles! We’re over here! Shiro is injured!”

“Keith, what were you thinking?” Ulaz and Thace reached them first. To their credit, they only helped Shiro to his feet while Kolivan descended upon Keith, checking him for injuries with terrified eyes.

Antok inspected Sendak’s body with horror.

“Keith did you… Did you do this?” He said, picking up Keith’s bloodstained blade.

“He was going to kill Shiro. And me.” Keith said, holding his chin up higher.

“We have to get inside. We don’t know what else lurks,” Regris urged, bringing the torch closer to the group.

They made their way back into the house with haste and put Shiro carefully on the table. Regris ran to fetch the medical supplies while Kolivan deposited Keith firmly on the couch.

“Keith, you could have _died_ ,” Kolivan said, his voice shaking. “You _know_ the wood isn’t safe at night.”

“But Shiro was there. I knew he wouldn’t let anything hurt me.” Keith said, holding out his hands in front of him. He had blood under his fingernails.

“You knew… Keith,” Kolivan said, defeated, collapsing to the couch.

They were silent while Regris patched Shiro up, Keith picking at the blood.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” Keith murmured, looking around at his uncles. “I just… I knew Shiro wasn’t a monster.”

He caught a glimpse of Shiro’s face from where he laid on the table. Guilt immeasurable washed over him in a tidal wave, forcing his face to crumple.

“You shouldn’t have come,” He said softly. “I don’t deserve it. Not your life.”

“Shiro, you’re not a monster, or the Champion, or whatever the hell else,” Keith said evenly, standing and moving to take Shiro’s hand. “You… You’re just Shiro to me.”

Even Keith’s uncles were quiet, watching the two with heavy hearts.

Shiro’s jaw worked as he looked up at Keith in wonder.

“Keith, I…” Shiro squeezed his hand once in his own, looking down at it in awe. “Thank you.”

In the morning, Keith was entrusted with two letters to Krolia: one for business, and one to get Keith in insurmountable levels of trouble.

“You will give her both, understood?” Kolivan had said sternly, eyeing Keith across the breakfast table.

Keith could see how surreal it was for his uncles to be serving someone they’d called the Champion steak and eggs, but he was impressed at how well they were taking it in stride.

“I’ll see to it,” Shiro had said, looking wickedly at Keith from the other end of the table.

His uncles’ strides had not been long enough to allow them to sit next to one another, it seemed.

Keith and Shiro stood outside Keith’s uncles’ home, looking toward the mouth of the trail as Keith’s uncles watched. Keith had only _just_ convinced them all not to come with them as an escort.

Keith turned to Shiro.

Shiro beamed back at him, that smile that Keith had fallen for what seemed like lifetimes ago in the wood.

“Keith, would you do me the pleasure of allowing me to walk you home?”


End file.
